Regrets
by Suzunomiko
Summary: Draco muses over his one and only regret.


(Draco muses over his one and only regret. Yeah, I know he regrets nothing... but he IS human, damnit, and he has to have just one. This is my view on what his thoughts would be if he finally understood that he had done something terribly wrong to someone who didn't deserve it.)

There she was again... standing aloof over the library books as if they had not as much right to be there as she so obviously did. Her constant air of superiority scared him as much as it intrigued him; it was something that had taken him years of constant practice to achieve, yet she seemed to have been born with it. The way she carried herself was commanding, almost regal; even her eyes never gave off the slightest bit of emotion if she did not want them to. She had been a mature woman before she had even known what 'mature' meant.

He smirked slightly as he watched her pluck a particularly large book from the shelf, open it to the very last page, scan it for a few moments, then scowl at it and put it back. How she had acquired this habit he had no idea, but it made perfect sense to read the last page of a book before starting it when he really thought about it. If she stopped in the middle of a book and decided she did not like it, or that it was a dull read, or anything else she could possibly find wrong with it (and she often did), she could always put it back and still know what had happened to the characters she was so interested in. Sometimes she would read a book for the milieu, but most times it was simply for the characters. She adored making people. Creating a complicated personality and bringing it to life in stories fascinated her. The strategy was really quite brilliant, though he would never admit it aloud.

True to his gender he was inclined to follow the opinions of his fellows, his comrades, wrong though they may be. She was to his friends no more than an overbearing, bizarre, bookish outcast that was way too smart for her own good. They were only partially correct. She was very intelligent, and when the situation called for it good Lord in heaven, she COULD be rather intimidating. It suited her in a way that frightened most boys. He suspected that she would be happy with an older man, or at least someone as mature as she. A while back she had revealed to him her preference in partners.

"When I fall in love with someone, it will be for who they are and not what they are. Anything less would be too superficial."

She smiled. Apparently that book was to her liking. He glanced at the title before she tucked it under her arm. "Mating Habits of the Earthbound Male." Huh. A parody, no doubt. She had always thought women were more intelligent. For all he knew, she was right. Most women, or girls, for that matter, were definitely smarter than he.

She had always been seen as a threat to most men, the ones who seemed to believe that a girl should run to her man for help the instant the slightest thing goes wrong. High School boys are like that, most of them anyway. Females are property to be dressed up and shown off to friends and family. This girl had never allowed herself to get into a situation like that. She was the kind of girl who would fight FOR her man if she was given the slightest chance. If a man tried to fight for HER, she would probably beat the hell out of him for upstaging her. She probably had already.

She was known to have three major Shakespearean faults - obsession, curiosity, and pride - all of which made it impossible to take more than she wanted to give from her. He had watched her carefully during her few, yet impressively long, relationships. In fact, he had been one of them. She knew when she was being taken advantage of, and she WOULD fight back. It was impossible to persuade her to do something she did not want to do. She had her own way of doing things.

She was right, and nobody could convince her otherwise.

She was a woman in the purest sense of the word. She was perfect.

"Just as you are."

His heart stopped when her head shot up and she threw him a look that could have melted glass. Had he said that out loud? He lowered his eyes, not daring to provoke her any further. She may have broken up with him, but it had been his fault. He knew that now. He had been playing with ethereal fire, trying to control a free spirit like that. He could have looked past himself being burned, but the backlash had scarred her as well. To mar such beauty was a mortal sin on his part, and he would never forgive himself for such sacrilege. He could never manage it, not when she pierced him with those now unfeeling eyes every time their paths crossed.

As she turned to leave, her frizzy auburn hair bobbing around her shoulder blades, he sighed again; a sad, forlorn little sound.

"Forgive me, Hermione," he whispered.

And she was gone.

(Dedicated to my best friend Samantha, who has shown me more fire in her soul than anyone else in my life. Her art is fantastic, and her poetry speaks of the supernatural potential of the human heart. And he hair is nice too. 

Review?) 


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